Dragon Age: Maelstrom
by Leman of the Russ
Summary: Olaf Aeducan, once Prince of Orzammar, now one of the last Grey Wardens. His life had changed over the past few months, but now it will change even more. Morrigan, the Witch of the Wilds, now lays claim to his heart, and he must know cope of leading an army, ending a Blight, and persuing a relationship. Includes all Origins as charcters. Covers Origins, Awakening and Witch Hunt
1. Prologue

_Hey guys this is the story I said I'd be focusing on in the latest chapter of Jaws of the Wolf, so here's the very first chapter. Sorry it's a bit short, but this IS my first Dragon Age fanfic, and I haven't really played much of Origins. So read, rate, review and enjoy!_

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Olaf Aeducan tossed and turned in his tent, trying desperately to attain sleep which he knew would never come. He needed the rest, but he also dreaded it. His dreams were haunted with the faces of those he had left to die at Ostagar. And then there was that damn Archdemon. Whenever he slept, he would have the same dream. Watching as that damnable dragon roared at its horde, then trembling as it turned its baleful eyes to his, its gaze burning its way to his very soul, sending the same message: _We are coming for you and there's nothing you can do to stop us_, then feeling his body being burnt to a crisp. Those two glassy orbs would be filled with such hate that Olaf would wonder whether all that hate could be produced by anything short of a demon. Could it?

He gave up trying to sleep and, buckling his armour on, he made his way to relieve Alistair of watch. He walked up behind his friend and shook him by the shoulder. "Hey, you awake?" Alistair snapped upright, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword. "Oh it's you" he mumbled, his voice thick. "Sorry" Olaf said, a sheepish grin working its way onto his face. "Get some sleep, it's my shift." he said. Alistair nodded, and went to his tent where he promptly collapsed with a clang. Olaf sat on the log next to the fire and gazed into its depths, his mind wandering. He remembered the horrible events of Bhelen's betrayal, the bodies of the soldiers guarding him strewn before him, and the look of horror on his father's face. He saw the attack on Ostagar, the corpses lying in the street, the fleeing soldiers as that bastard Loghain ordered a full retreat just to become King himself. The mere mention of that traitor's name sent his blood boiling. He could feel the rage building, a mounting pressure building up behind his eyes. His fingers slowly curled into a fist, each digit like a claw of a wolf. The edge of his vision started turning red, and his breathing deepened. With a roar of anger, his smashed his fist against a nearby tree, shattering the bark. He felt the fragile bark give way under his gauntleted fist, and felt something run down his fingers. He tugged off his right gauntlet to see all the knuckles on his hand bleeding profusely, painting his fingers crimson. He swore in dwarfish, then reached for his pack where his bandages lay. "And what hath caused your discomfort my friend?" A silky, sultry voice called out from the darkness. Olaf finished wrapping the bandage round his knuckles and turned to see Morrigan, the Witch of the Wilds, ambling towards him from her tent on the opposite side of the camp, away from the others. He couldn't help but stare at her. Her figure was so different from those of _dwarva_ women he had grown used to. His eyes took in the graceful curves of her body, her wide hips, and her large bosoms, barely covered by the swathe of her blouse. He stared at her, she who saved him from certain death, she who knew him best and, though he was scared to admit it, she who had claimed his heart, as she sat down beside him. She was still a head and shoulders taller than he was, but she didn't seem to notice.

"You didn't answer me" she said pointedly. Olaf coughed awkwardly as he felt his face flush. "Ah yes" he said, his rich deep baritone voice rumbled "just remembering some painful memories" One of Morrigan's eyebrows shot up at that last remark. "Well" she said, her tone betraying her interest instantly "why not just tell me? 'Twould be much easier for the both of us." Olaf sighed, she had a point. She always seemed to know what would ease his mind. How, though? How did she ALWAYS know? He sighed and leaned back, letting his mind wander. "Let's see" he began, sifting through his memories to find the exact details. "Ah yes, there was the time where I saved my big brother's life." Morrigan's golden eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, didn't I tell you?" Olaf asked "It is kind of an important detail. It's actually due to that that I'm up here. Ironically it ended up with me being framed for his murder." His eyes took on a glazed quality, as if he was staring off into the vast void. "Ah Bhelen" he said, a small smile on his lips "I was right. You're paranoia will be the end of you" He then glanced up at Morrigan, who had been staring at him this entire time, a look of polite inquiry on her face. "Where was I?" he asked "Ah yes, the story of me saving my big brother Trian" and with that, he began to weave his tale.


	2. Chapter 1- The Whispers Circle

Olaf stood in his room in the Royal Palace, buckling on the armour his father had laid out for him the previous afternoon. He had been told it belonged to his great-grandfather, and it seemed to radiate an aura of age and venerability. He had just finished putting on his boots and combing his chestnut-brown hair and beard when he heard a very familiar voice call out"Greetings my lord!"

Olaf turned, his signature grin working its way onto his face, to find Gorim, his second and the only dwarf he trusted implicitly, leaning against the wall, amusement twinkling in his eyes "You are dressed and ready, excellent." Gorim straightened, then asked "Will you be coming armed, milord?" Olaf considered the question for a moment, then replied "Yes. Let them see me as a warrior. And Gorim, how many times must I tell you; Olaf is fine, so why bother with formalities?"

Gorim simply shrugged, saying "Old habits die hard. Hopefully I'll die harder." That elicited a chuckle from Olaf, his deep voice rumbling throughout the room. "Only problem is if all the nobles have a shield and three swords you'll feel awfully underdressed." Gorim continued with a smirk. That prompted a full hearty laugh from Olaf, his voice booming across the palace. Once he had stopped sniggering, he turned and said "You, my friend, are ridiculous" That remark made both dwarves chuckle, their voices filling the air with their mirth. "You can't take these events too seriously" was his eventual reply. Gorim walked over to one of the walls, as though to examine one of the many paintings. "Your father had requested your presence at the feast, although there's no rush. I expect the lords will keep him occupied with petty greivences for hours. Also Lord Harrowmont opened the Provings for young warriors to test their mettle, and it's being held today in your honour" he said "We could go over there and show them what single combat is really all about. And by 'we', I mean you. Heh, I'll practice my cheering." That made Olaf grin all the wider. If Gorim was good at one thing, it was making normally boring situations all the more bearable, kind of something he had become incredibly grateful for in his life as a noble.

He opened one of the many chests along one of the walls and removed a well-used war-axe, which still remained in near-flawless condition despite its age, followed by an equally aged crossbow and quiver. He placed both in sheaths on his back, whilst Gorim prepared his lord's shield. When Olaf was ready, he said "The Provings sound interesting, let's go there first" already striding towards the door. "As you wish my Lord" Gorim replied, bowing "the day is ours until the feast." He handed Olaf his targe, which the latter slipped onto into his back, they both then left the Prince's chambers and headed towards the Provings arena, in the Orzammar Commons, below the Diamond Quarter. As they left his chambers, Olaf noticed a figure run into Bhelen's room. His curiosity piqued, he set off to investigate. He swung the door open and he and Gorim entered. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a dwarven woman standing near Bhelen's bed. When she noticed them, her eyes widened in surprise but she managed to stay composed. "I'm sorry my Lord, I thought that was Prince Bhelen coming down the hall and…" she stopped mid-sentence. "I…forgive me" Olaf stopped before and asked "Excuse my asking my lady, but who are you?" Gorim appeared beside him, eying the woman with a mixture of distrust and mild indifference. "She is one of Prince Bhelen's newest…ah…companions, my Lord." Olaf nodded, then turned to examine the girl.

She was quite beautiful, he though, with her orange hair cascading over her shoulder, hiding her brand, the firelight casting shadows over one side of her face and maroon dress, giving her an almost exotic and mysterious appearance. Gorim replied to the girl "Prince Bhelen is currently attending the feast in the Main Hall." The poor lass blushed and averted her gaze. "Of-of course. It was presumptuous of me to assume he'd return to... I am sorry. I will show myself out, with your leave My Lord." But before she could do anything, Olaf had stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "How long have you been seeing my brother? How many times have you met that you are already allowed to wait for him in his quarters?" he asked, his voice not suspicious, but mildly curious. The poor girl started to stammer as her nervousness set in "Well uh…my name is Rica. I have only met your brother a few times but... Forgive me if I caused you any inconvenience." She started to fidget under his penetrating gaze, his hazel eyes seeming to look into the very depths of her soul. Olaf could immediately tell from her body language that she was hiding something, that much was obvious. "How has he treated you when you have seen him? What do you think of him as a person?" he asked, once again his voice merely curious. Rica was surprised by the question, then realized that it was only natural, seeing as Bhelen was Olaf's younger brother. "I ... well, he's been very kind to me and, he knows how to treat... I mean he..." she was cut off from her thoughts as Olaf moved in, his breath tickling her cheek.

"Of course he would treat you well. Such a strong lass" he breathed, his voice low and husky "to have endured so much pain" as he moved in for a kiss. Rica stared up at him indignantly, then surrendered and closed her eyes. Gorim looked at his lord as if he had gone mad, then retreated out of the room to give them some privacy. Olaf stopped just before kissing Rica, leaving the poor girl bewildered, muttering an apology and something about him taking advantage of her, sat down on the bed and beckoned for her to join him. She sat down nervously next to him, keeping her eyes glued to the floor. "Tell me about yourself child" he said, his voice quiet and, in a strange way, almost fatherly. Rica shuddered, trying to avoid the question, but eventually described her life in Dust Town and her family. When she had finished, Olaf mulled over the information. "Your family's very lucky to have you" he said, his voice gentle and hushed "So, you have a brother" he saw her flinch at the mere mention of him "where is he now? Why does he let you carry this by yourself?" his tone stern.

Rica started to stumble over her words "I... well... I mean... Please, My Lord, don't ask me anything else. And don't think ill of my brother, he's sacrificed more than I have trying to keep me safe and now he's... I mean... no, please My Lord, if you're truly not heartless, don't torture me with these questions anymore." She turned away, but not before Olaf saw the tears in her eyes. He wrapped his huge arms around her and drew her in for a comforting hug as she started to cry. "Shh, its ok, no one's gonna hurt you anymore" he cooed, slowly stroking the back of her head as she wept into his shoulder. She looked up at him with puffy eyes, tears streaming down her face. "What happened? I'm guessing that the fact that you tripped on your own words meant that you were trying to keep up an act. What was it you really wanted from Bhelen that you were waiting for him so impatiently? That look in your eyes right now speaks of fear, fear for someone other than yourself." Rica's head shot up in shock. "Oh my lord!" she wailed "I did want to ask something of your brother, even though it's far too early and presumptuous of me to think my problems are of any note to someone like him."

Olaf merely sat back, cradling the poor girl in his arms, letting her gather thoughts. She continued "I'm scared my lord, my brother, he's..." she paused, the look in her eyes betraying her guilt and shame. But Olaf had heard enough to guess her situation. "You speak as though you rely on him greatly. He must be a very strong man to warrant your respect, especially if he's your younger sibling. But he lives in Dust Town, so I suppose he got by doing the only thing he could. And judging by the fact that most casteless work for either work for Beraht with the Carta or other crime lords, he's either angered his boss and is now paying the consequences, or he's tried to escape entirely." Rica's head shot up, her grief forgotten in her surprise of the accuracy of his deduction. "How did you know?" she asked, her voice quiet and hushed. Olaf grinned and said "What kind of prince would I be if I ignored the lives of my potential subjects?" Rica merely looked him in the eye and said "You truly are as the rumours say your highness. My brother is a very strong person, and a brilliant fighter. Quick-witted, agile and has a knack for knowing what to do and when to do it. That's what caught Beraht's eye, you see. He had always been looking for his own personal hitman, so to speak, and when he saw my brother, he thought he'd found one." At that point, Gorim walked in carrying a basin of water and a towel.

"Beraht's very shrewd, made deals with surfacers, smuggles lyrium and other goods, plus he only preys of dusters , hence he has enough gold to bribe half the guards in the Commons" he noted. Rica merely nodded and took a shuddering breath. "Due to his at fighting, Beraht tried to get him into the Provings disguised as one of the champions." Olaf's eyes widened. He had heard of a casteless taking the place of one of the champions, but he had no idea it was her brother. "After he was discovered, Beraht lost a lot of money. So to…_punish_ him" she shuddered at the use of the word 'punish' "he ordered him incarcerated for two months with no food, then execution." She started to cry again, the despair rushing to the surface. Once again Olaf drew her in for a hug, and sat with her head buried in his shoulder, waiting until her tears ran dry. "Please my lord" she whispered "find him. Find my brother." Olaf looked down at the poor girls, her eyes puffy and red from crying, and nodded. "On mine honour" he rumbled, his voice low and deadly serious. He nodded to Gorim and left the palace, out to the Diamond Quarter.


	3. Chapter 2- The Vipers Nest

**Wow, you guys are really loving this aren't you? Anyway, here's the latest of the Maelstrom (its name will become apparent very soon, trust me.) R&R, enjoy and try to keep an open mind.**

**Oh, and a huge shoutout to Karmic Acuemen, he's the reason I started writing this thanks to his story The Crown of Thorns, so read that if you enjoy this.**

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They walked through mostly unhindered, the crowds seeming to unconsciously part before them. They approached the entrance to the Commons, but were stopped by the sound of heated arguing coming from one of the many merchant stalls. Olaf beckoned to Gorim to stop, and turned in the direction of the noise.

He saw two dwarves, one in the robes of a scholar, the other in ornate battle armour, the type one would only find on a member of one of the noble houses.

The Noble was yelling at the Scholar with a look of sheer outrage on his rage. Olaf motioned for them to get closer. As they approached, Olaf began to make out words through the babble of the surrounding crowd.

"My lord, please" the scholar began, his voice pleading "My work is accredited by the Shaper!" Olaf looked at the noble. _How pathetic,_ he thought, _that a man such as him must resort to bullying scholars to prove his 'honour'._

As they got closer, he recognised the noble as Bruntin Vollney. "These books are lies, written by the enemies of House Vollney!" he protested, his voice slightly less than a roar. The scholar looked at the Prince as he and Gorim approached. "Your Highness, please, I beg you, solve this matter!" he pleaded "Your father loved my book 'History of Aeducan: Paragon, King, and Peacemaker'."

Olaf nodded in acknowledgement, he remembered that book. "I enjoyed it also" he said, his voice strong and resonate "I must say friend, your writings are of spectacular quality."

The scholar visibly blushed at his praise, but there was a gleam of triumph in the man's hazel eyes. Olaf then turned his gaze to Bruntin and said "What exactly is the problem, my lord Vollney?"

He saw Bruntin visibly bristle at that term of address. "This worm has written a book that slanders my house!" Bruntin replied immediately. One of Olaf's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh? How is it slander? What does it say?" he asked, curiosity overcoming his better judgement. "It doesn't matter, it's all lies!" Bruntin lashed back, waving angrily at the scholar in the process.

Olaf merely sighed and folded his arms across his barrel-like chest. "You claim the book to be slander yet you cannot tell me what it says?" he said, his voice betraying his frustration. He then turned to the scholar to explain the contents of the book.

* * *

Through his discussion with the scholar, it was revealed that the vote that proclaimed Vollney a Paragon wasn't unanimous.

There was one vote against the action, which was only removed by a campaign of blackmail, bribery and threats.

_Just like with Aeducan_ Olaf thought, remembering his history lessons as a child.

When the Assembly voted for Aeducan to be a Paragon, there was also one vote against the motion, although said noble was quickly and savagely hacked to pieces. He stood there, considering his options.

Eventually he said "Just because you don't like what history states about your House doesn't make it any less true. You try to cover up your mistakes by making sure no one else knows about them. If you cannot accept history, don't try and force your views on others. History and truth must come above all others."

Bruntin's eyes widened in shock, his face betraying his surprise. "You're siding with him?!" he cried, his voice rising a few octaves like he'd just been kicked in the stones.

Olaf turned his second best intimidating glare on the noble. "You think you can just bully people into doing your will?" he asked, his voice little more than an animalistic growl, his braided moustache shaking like a tree in a strong wind. "You think that because you're noble-born you can order everyone else around?"

Before anyone could even blink Olaf had crossed the gap between them and had lifted the poor man off his feet, his gauntleted hand wrapped around his throat. "Well news-flash ! #$%^&*!" he roared, his hand slowly tightening around the young Vollney's neck "Just because you're a noble doesn't give you the right to dictate the lives of others. My father knows that, your father knows that, every single Paragon that ever existed knew it, so what makes you think you're any different?!"

The surrounding area went suddenly silent, and everyone was openly staring at the spectacle unfolding before them. Vollney scrabbled at Olaf's arm, his face a deathly white. Gorim looked at his lord, his face a mix of terror and awe.

"My lord, please! This is completely unnecessary!" he cried, desperately trying to unhook the poor noble's throat from Olaf's vice-like grip.

"Get off me Gorim!" he roared "This…this _worm_ must learn his place!" by now poor Vollney's face had turned a very interesting shade of purple, and his eyes had rolled back into his skull, his breaths coming in short gasps.

Eventually, Olaf relented, releasing his grip on the arrogant noble. He slumped to the ground, drawing in great lungful after lungful of air which he had mere seconds before taken for granted.

Olaf sneered down at the noble cowering before him, his teeth flashing in the firelight, his unnaturally intense blue eyes glinting dangerously. "So" he sneered "how does it feel? Does it hurt? Does it burn?" Poor Bruntin could only nod, his voice too hoarse to be heard. Olaf then crouched down to look Bruntin in the eye.

"The burning you feel? It is shame" he deadpanned, his voice utterly devoid of all emotional inflection. He rose, then turned to Gorim and said "Come Gorim, let us leave this fool in peace" then turned back to the scholar "I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused" then tossed the terrified dwarf a pouch of gold, before striding off towards the exit to the Commons.

* * *

They continued to stroll through the Diamond Quarter unhindered, making steady progress through the milling crowds. They were nearly at the exit when Olaf heard a familiar voice call out "Astra valla big brother!" and saw his two brothers, Princes Trian and Bhelen striding towards them.

Olaf sighed before setting his face into his signature smirk. "Astra valla Bhelen" he boomed, his voice easily travelling across the space between them.

The two brothers stopped directly opposite Olaf and Gorim, with barely a metre of space between them.

"Shouldn't you be attending the feast with our king-father?" Trian rumbled, his voice filled with contempt.

Gorim bristled and said "Lord Harrowmont said we wouldn't be needed for a few hours at-" but was cut off when Trian cried "Silence! If I need the opinion of my brother's second I will ask for it!"

Olaf's hands balled into fists, his lips rising into a silent snarl. If there was one thing he hated about Trian it was his new-found arrogance with he had adopted two months ago.

Trian noticed Olaf's reaction and smirked. "What's wrong little brother?" he sneered "Did I hurt your precious little feelings?" Gorim gave Trian a pointed glare, his hand curling round the pommel of his sword dangerously.

Bhelen was smart enough to back away from the impending brawl, whilst Trian merely stood there, a smug smirk on his face, behind his full blonde beard. Olaf glared daggers at his brother, his rage an inferno behind his eyes, the irises glowing with a faint sapphire light. Trian fingered the haft of his huge maul with caution, waiting for one of the others to make the first move.

"**Enough**" Olaf said suddenly, his hands unclenching and his face relaxing, his voice taking on an unnaturally deep booming rumble and seemed to compose of thousands of overlapping murmurs "**this is unbecoming of warriors such as us.**"

Gorim turned to stare at his lord, and it was only then that he noticed Olaf's eyes were radiating a sapphire glow that illuminated his entire face, with veins of light running from his eyes to his hairline.

Even Trian seemed taken aback by his brother's sudden burst of honorary logic, and all three removed their hands from their weapons. His face turned to one of shock for a second, before his signature sneer came back.

"Very well" he drawled "let's see how long your reputation stays intact, _Commander_" with sarcasm lacing his voice.

Olaf turned to stare at his brother with inhuman disdain; his glowing eyes filled with contempt and…was that pity? Trian couldn't be sure.

"**Only someone with nothing to prove has the right to arrogance, Trian**" he rumbled, the very Stone around them seemed to shake with the power of his voice "**and even they know the price of such attitudes."** His tone turned deadly seriously when he said** "Watch your back brother, your title wouldn't keep you safe for long.**"

He then beckoned to Gorim and they both strolled past a dumbstruck Trian and a bemused Bhelen and disappeared into the crowd. They walked around the corner from the entrance to the Commons and into a nearby alley before they both collapsed into gales of helpless laughter.

* * *

"Oh Paragons! Now _that _was funny!" Olaf managed to say in between bouts of laughing.

"Did you see his face? That was a treat in itself!" Gorim replied, having to lean on the wall to stay upright.

The one subject none on them broached was the matter of Olaf's glowing eyes, mainly because they were too busy enjoying the look of stupefied surprise of Trian's face.

After managing to calm themselves long enough for coherent thought, they set off for the Provings arena on the other of the Commons.

They strolled past many merchant stalls until one of them, an apothecary with a vast array of different potions, caught Olaf's eye. He approached the vendor, an aging dwarf with a huge silver beard that rolled over his chest like a waterfall, whose eyes lit up when he caught sight of the second-born prince.

"Good morning Highness!" the dwarf cried, his voice brimming with excitement "What brings you to my humble store?" Olaf lifted one of the vials, a health potion by its red colouring, and asked "How much for five of your strongest health potions and three fire bombs?"

To say the vendor was surprised would be a colossal understatement, his eyes nearly popped out of his skull as he did the calculations in his head, "Fifty silver Highness" he said, packing all the potions into a small nug-skin pouch. Olaf rummaged in his pocket for some money, but instead of the silver the merchant was expecting, he produced a single gold sovereign.

"Keep the change" Olaf said, handing him the coin, and the merchant fainted as soon as the coin landed on his open palm.

Gorim looked down at the prone stall-owner and deadpanned "Well down my lord, you've finally managed to beat your brother's record for the most interesting public reaction to your presence." Olaf promptly chuckled and strode off again, leaving a growing crowd behind him, the potion pouch now firmly tied to his belt.

They walked the short distance to the Provings and Olaf threw the huge double doors open dramatically with both hands. Every head in the hall turned to stare at the prince as he approached, flanked by Gorim, his charisma filling every inch of the room, making everyone break out into wide smiles.

"Greetings your Majesty!" the Provings Master boomed, his arms open wide in welcome "What brings you to these great halls?" Olaf approached the wizened dwarf and clasped his forearms in the traditional dwarven gesture of friendship.

"I seek knowledge of the casteless seen here not two weeks ago" he said, his voice dropping so only the three of them could hear him. The Provings Master's eyes narrowed dangerously as he remembered the scandal pulled during one of the fights.

"Aye, an affront to the Ancestors it was" he growled "I hope that little nug-lick gets what's coming to him!" Olaf's eyes widened slightly, and he glanced at Gorim.

"Actually my lord" Gorim said, stepping into the conversation "we were wondering if you knew where he was being held." Once again the old dwarf was caught completely off-guard, his eyes widened to saucer-size and his face turning as white as marble.

"Are you two mad?" he demanded, his voice rising slightly and attracting the attention of some of the bystanders. Olaf gave a furtive glance around the room before beckoning the others to the balcony overlooking the arena.

"We need to find him" he explained whilst leaning on the ledge on the edge of the balcony "why we need him I can't tell you, but I can tell you it involves one, if not both of my brothers." Gorim's eyes looked like they were about to fall out of their sockets, despite his bland expression, and the poor Provings master looked like he would faint at any moment. Olaf himself had only just figured it out whilst remembering the bemused look on Bhelen's face; his brother was obviously hiding something. His eyes grew wide as he heard the double doors boom open behind him, and he turned to see the one sight he never wanted to see in his entire life: Wojech Ivo and his little brother Frandlin marched through the doorway, the older sibling wearing a smug sneer.

"So what do we have here boys?" he called to the warriors behind him "A prince lost his way?" Frandlin tried to distance himself from his brother, but Wojech reached out one arm and grabbed the poor dwarf by the shoulder and pulled him back. "

What do you think brother?" Wojech asked Frandlin, a cruel grin on his face "Should we teach them a lesson?" Frandlin's expression spoke volumes. His eyes were wide with terror, his face white as a sheet, and his hands were visibly trembling. _What has Wojech done?_ Olaf thought, his hand unconsciously reaching for his axe. Gorim too was reaching his sword, his gauntlets shining in the light of the braziers.

"Wojech, stand down" Olaf ordered, putting a note of command into his voice just as his father had taught him "you don't need to do this." Wojech merely sneered at him as he drew his huge weapon, prompting gasps from the assembled crowd.

"Don't I?" he snarled, the fury burning in his eyes "Just because you're the son of the King doesn't excuse you from your own actions, _Your Highness_" he spat out the honorific like it was poison. Frandlin, now free from Wojech's iron grip, darted for the door, his face still a picture of sheer desperation and terror. Olaf sighed and drew his axe and his shield.

"Is this about your sister?" he asked "Because if it is, let me tell you she was great between the sheets." He finished with a huge smirk on his face.

Wojech roared with rage and charged, his weapon swinging like a battering ram across his chest as he ran (think of Hellscream's charge from the cutscene from Warcraft 3).

Olaf ducked under Wojech's first clumsy blow and drove his targe into Ivo's gut, winding him despite his set of massive armour. He drove his armoured knee into Wojech's unprotected face, hearing a satisfying crack as his nose broke, and looked on as the noble shot back, twin jets of crimson shooting from his nostrils.

He then drove his axe straight into Wojech's chest, sending the huge dwarf flying backwards, taking half a dozen of his lackeys with him whilst knocking the poor noble unconscious.

"And that's why you don't pick a fight with the Shield" Olaf said, sheathing his axe and placing his shield on his back. He looked over at Gorim, who was glowering at him in disappointment.

"What's wrong Gorim? I thought you didn't mind a day off." Olaf said, grinning to show he was joking.

Gorim merely shrugged and replied "I did say that, but I thought you would at least save one for me, if not two" he rubbed his right wrist "Ancestors know I need to work out more." The made the surrounding dwarves burst out laughing, not mocking Gorim, but laughing at the whole situation. Olaf chuckled before turning back to the Provings master, who too was trying hard to supress a grin.

"That brand's somewhere in the Carta stronghold in Dust Town." The master told them, giving them the exact location of where they could enter the base undetected. They thanked the venerable dwarf and headed towards the slums, their prey now firmly in their sights.

* * *

**Ok, I think I ought to explain my approach to Bruntin before you all sluaghter me in the review playing, I really saw him as the sterotypical aristorcrat, wealthy and arrogant but not too bright. And seeing as Olaf is meant to be the most popular dwarf in Orzammar I thought I'd add a bit of negativity to him, all good guys have a dark side right? As for Wojech, I like the way Karmic Acuemen dealt with him in one of his later chapters, so I thought I'd introduce that a little earlier, plus I wanted Olaf to have at least one rival aside from Trian and Bhelen, that would be boring. The next chapter should be up by tommorow. Plus half-term is coming up so I should be posting more regularly. See ya!**


	4. Chapter 3-To slay the beast

t

Olaf advanced on Dust Town like an avalanche, utterly unstoppable and completely unrelenting. He strode past numerous nobles, merchants and workmen, his presence passing like a thundercloud past them, Gorim following in his wake.

As soon as they hit the slums, they searched every possible secret entrance point in hope of finding the door to the Carta stronghold. They finally found it outside one of the more derelict shacks on the very edge of town.

Olaf looked at Gorim, who had his shield and sword in hand, nodded once, and unceremoniously smashed the rusted iron door off its hinges with one well-placed kick with his boot.

The blackened sheet of metal flew into the building like it had just been hit by Trian's maul, slamming into the four guards just behind it, creating four identical indents into the aged material.

Gorim leapt through the breach first, and immediately engaged on the surviving guards. Olaf soon followed, axe and targe in hand. He didn't even have to see the guard charging at him from his right.

Without looking he buried his axe in the poor brand's chest, killing him instantly. He let out a blood-curdling bellow and leapt into the fray regardless of his own safety, his axe and shield flying in all directions.

Gorim could only watch in stupefied awe as Olaf danced across the room, the blood of his foes swirling around him like a crimson curtain, his face a mask of rage.

Eventually he had no choice but to pursue his lord, sword in hand he barrelled after the young prince as he slaughtered his way through most of the Karta's warriors, leaving a bloody tally in his wake.

They ran down innumerable corridors, through countless caverns and storerooms, slaughtering all in their path, their blades flashing like slivers of moonlight.

They soon emerged into a prison complex, dozens of cells spread out in a vast maze of steel and stone. Olaf headed straight forward, whilst Gorim flanked left, their eyes scanning each and every cell for any sign of their quarry.

* * *

They stalked through the huge cavern, past numerous skeleton-filled cells, and still found no trace of their illusive duster.

They felled all of the guards who were dumb enough to block their path, their advance like a landslide. They spent at least two hours searching the cavern before they stumbled into a side room and heard voices coming from behind one of the closed doors.

"Don't think you'll escape this time" someone, probably another Carta thug, sneered "I don't know how you escaped last time, or how you killed Beraht, and honestly I don't care. All I care about is Jarvia's reward for killing you. I have no idea how a piece of scum like you managed to become Beraht's top hitman."

There was a chorus of drunken chuckles and the sound of steel on leather and Olaf's eyes widened in horror. "Gorim move!" he bellowed before backing up a few paces and launching himself into the door, causing it to explode into thousands of tiny splinters.

The four guards in the room snapped upright in surprise as a twelve stone dwarf hurtled into them, his axe swinging in lethal arcs, his face a mask of rage.

Gorim flew past Olaf to engage one of the other dwarves armed with crossbows, his sword flashing like lightning and severing limbs, arteries and weapons with equal ferocity.

If Gorim was vicious, then Olaf was murderous. He cut down guards like blades of grass, his axe striking like an enraged snake, killing anything it touched.

He swept through the increasing number of guards blocking his way, blood drenching his armour, turning him into a crimson monstrosity. He hacked, slashed and butchered dozens of dusters, all in the space of a few minutes, his blade-arm merely a blur. He swept through the last few guards with a dramatic flourish, Gorim bisecting his foe a second later.

What they saw next made Olaf's blood boil.

There, chained to the back wall, scarred and bloodied, was their illusive duster, clad in nothing but sackcloth.

The poor dwarf, who must have been at least twenty years of age, had scars covering every inch of his chest, arms and shoulders, his wrists and ankles red from the chaffing chains.

Olaf motioned to Gorim, who walked to the dwarf's left whilst Olaf went right. On his signal, they swung their weapons at the chains restraining the poor brand.

The restrains shattered with a mighty clang, and the dwarf fell unceremoniously to the ground before either Olaf or Gorim could catch him.

The brand rose with a groan, his flame-red hair and beard, long and ragged, clung to his head like a second skin. Olaf was at his side in an instant, slinging one of the duster's arms over his shoulders and dragging him out of the room, Gorim slipping the other arm over his own broad shoulders.

* * *

They headed towards the exit of Dust Town at a jog, but before they had even gotten five yards from the Carta base there was a startled cry from inside and six guards poured out of the door, closing in on the trio.

Olaf and Gorim stopped in their tracks and stared at each other. There was no way they could defend themselves with the duster still in their grip, and if they let go he would probably get killed the second he stood up.

But before they could decide anything, they both felt their belt knives being drawn and then watched as they appeared in the necks of two of their attackers.

They then felt the weight on their shoulders disappear and, to Olaf's horror, the duster leapt from the ground, performing an elegant backflip, and landed behind the other four guards.

* * *

He deftly reached round their backs and drew their daggers.

He kneed one of the guards in the small of his back, then grabbing him by his neck and using him as a living shield as one of his comrades drove his sword into the unfortunate guard's gut.

The dwarf then danced around his foes, hacking and slashing with an innate grace foreign to most dwarves, aside from the Legion of the Dead and some of the more talented nobles.

He stabbed one in the neck, slitting his throat as he passed, leaving the poor duster lying in a growing pool of blood grasping at his tattered throat.

Olaf and Gorim ogled at the sight before them, then uttered blood-curdling bellows and charged in, their weapons swinging like Death's own scythes. They swung, they hacked, they slashed, they practically danced their way through the remaining guards, their blood flowing around them in a crimson mist.

It took the trio mere seconds to dispatch their attackers, then they wandered out of Dust Town. They all slumped against one of the walls on the edge, their energy utterly spent.

"Uh man" the duster said, his voice haggard from disuse "thought I would never get outta there." He then turned towards Olaf, his storm-grey eyes locking on the prince's sapphire orbs. "Thanks for the rescue by the way…" he said, but then his voice trailed off as he stared into Olaf's eyes. "Oh Paragons, it's you" he breathed, his eyes widened in surprise "you're the Shield."

* * *

The Shield of Orzammar, an title he had earned when he was fourteen by defended both his brothers and his father whilst they were on a Deep Roads expedition to Kal Sharok from an entire Darkspawn raiding party, using his own body as a barrier between his family and the 'spawns black blades.

Back then he and Trian had gotten on a lot better, Trian had even stood by him for every decision he had ever made as an elder brother should.

To see his little brother broken and bloodied on the ground sent Trian into a great rage, and he attacked without any thought other than to reap his revenge. He, Bhelen and Endrin had slaughtered the 'spawn in less than an hour, Trian killing over half of them himself, earning himself the title of The Hammer in honour of his deed, and his signature weapon.

Bhelen, to everyone's surprise, managed to sneak around the main advance and cut down the 'spawn's entire left flank himself, earning himself the title of The Scout for his stealthy approach to the problem, much to his delight.

The King had flown into a great rage, just like Trian, at the sight of his son bleeding on the Stone, and so had ordered the entire company to attack, leading the charge with his sword raised high and a war cry on his lips.

They fought for what seemed like hours, and just when Trian raised his maul in the air to proclaim victory, Olaf shot out of nowhere to grab his brother by the waist and haul him to the ground as a Shriek stabbed at the air where he had been mere moments before. The second son then spun around on one leg and slammed his targe into the 'spawn's face, crushing the beast's skull and killing it instantly.

Everyone had stopped dead where they stood to stare at Olaf. The dwarf they had seen cut to shreds had somehow managed to heal himself and retained the strength to force his brother, in full armour, to the ground, and remain standing.

The strangest thing though was his eyes. They had changed from their normal hazel to a piercing blue, and they seemed to glow in an almost magical way, making him seem at least ten years older than he actually was.

* * *

After the initial shock had subsided there was a huge cheer from everyone as their prince stood there, tall and proud, a huge grin plastered on his face.

Trian, Bhelen and Endrin approached him, trying to maintain some measure of decorum, but in the face of Olaf's overpowering charisma they eventually broke.

Bhelen snapped first, racing up and embracing his brother, silently crying into his shoulder.

Endrin broke next, a huge grin slipping onto his normally stern features and he too embraced his sons, his huge arms encircling both of them with ease.

When they broke apart, Trian was still desperately clinging to some form of restraint; his mouth twitching like a nug with flees. Olaf took two steps towards his brother, his sibling and father behind him, matching smiles of joy on their faces, they eyes aglow with delight. Even Trian, despite his gruff exterior, couldn't handle all that emotion.

His will broke and his mouth split into a wide grin, his eyes sparkling in their sockets. With a cry he launched himself at his brother, slightly reminiscent of the way Olaf had flung himself at him mere minutes before, and caught him in a crushing bear hug, his joy overriding his sense. Olaf returned the embrace with a passion, his arms locking around his brother's shoulders like a High Dragon's jaws.

They stayed thus for roughly five minutes until Olaf tapped Trian on the shoulder and said "Uh, Trian? Sorry to interrupt your moment but I can't breathe here." There was an assembled chorus of laughter as Trian released his brother with a sheepish grin on his face. Olaf let out a booming laugh that echoed throughout the Roads, his voice swelling with joy at being alive again.

Endrin turned and swung his arm in a broad sweeping motion whilst crying "Onwards friends! Let us celebrate our good fortune when we reach our destination!"

The king's words were met with a huge cheer from the assembled warriors of House Selac, and they headed out again, their hearts light and joyous in their breasts. Olaf led the way, his head held high and his eyes alight with the life he had cherished with all his being, his father and brothers surrounding him.

He grinned a joyous grin, not at the fact that he was still alive, but at the compassion his family had just shown him, pouring their hearts out to him as if their last acts that he would ever see.

None of them had done that since his mother had died; they had all retreated into themselves to cope their grief and had hardened their hearts to each other to spare each other any more pain. This was the first time they had lowered those barriers in years, and it was that that made Olaf smile.

They had become a true family again.

* * *

**So, just for reference for those who are confused, Olaf is current 24 at this point, just to add context to the story.**

**And wow, this was a hard chapter to write. Any and all reviews are appreciated (aside from the durpy ones, they WILL be discarded)**

**Don't know when I'll post up another chapter, might take a while, mainly due to the fact I just ordered Dragon Age 2, which really isn't helping. **

**So, I'll see you guys later. See ya!**


	5. Chapter 5- To tempt Fate

**This is a re-write due to me replaying Origins and realizing I missed out a section. Sorry for the late update, as usualy famliy matters came up and stopped me from enjoying my so-called 'holiday'. But anyway, enough of my moaning, here it is! th latest chapter of the Maelstrom. And no, unfortunately you get to see where the name comes from as yet. And please guys, more reviews! The more reviews I get, the faster I update, you know this.**

* * *

Olaf snapped back to reality as he felt the duster, he should really learn the poor dwarf's name, tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey man, you ok? You looked kind of outta it just there." The prince shook himself and rose to his feet.

"Yeah, I'm fine" he replied before asking "What's your name anyway? I'll get sick of just calling 'duster' for hours on end."

The dwarf sighed, his long red hair hanging over his face like a veil. "Faren" he muttered, his voice full of self-loathing "my name is Faren Brosca."

Unconsciously, Olaf had begun to step towards the poor dwarf, but when he heard his name he took an involuntary step back.

This casteless was indeed the fabled personal assassin of the late Beraht, the dwarf who could slip in and out of any building completely undetected, the duster that could walk over lava if the wish took him.

He saw Gorim's face pale considerably, and couldn't miss his hand reaching for his sword on his back.

Apparently, Faren noticed it as well, and in a show of surprising dexterity, leapt from where he had been sitting to wrap his arm around Olaf's throat, a dagger clenched in his fist.

* * *

"Drop the sword" he growled, his eyes mere slits "or our poor prince here will suffer a bad case of death."

Olaf reacted instantly, his hand locking around Faren's wrist and heaved the assassin over his shoulder, nearly wrenching his arm from its socket. Faren roared as he felt all the tendons stretch to breaking point, pain searing all across his arm.

"It is not wise to threaten a prince" Olaf said, his voice almost sagely "especially one who is more experienced in combat than you." He then expertly slammed Faren into the ground, placing his knee into the small of his back to restrain the assassin.

"Knew this was a bad idea" Faren growled into his beard, his ire rising.

Olaf merely chuckled and replied with"I mean you no harm, noble Faren; I just don't appreciate being threatened."

Faren blanched at the use of the word 'noble' before his name, but didn't respond in any way. Gorim, who had finally managed to gather his wits, began looking for something to restrain Faren with, but Olaf stopped him when he said "There is no need Gorim, this was all just a misunderstanding. We just need to ensure the man's favour 'tis all."

Even Faren couldn't grasp the prince's meaning, his mind still reeling from his recent release from imprisonment. He felt Olaf release his hold on him, and stood up, massaging his spine to alleviate the pain there. When he next looked up, he saw the prince holding a longsword out to him, a fierce gleam in his eyes.

* * *

"Fight me" he said simply, his voice commanding and compelling, like the tone of a king.

_Or a Paragon_ Faren thought, remembering what he'd heard of the very first Aeducan, the true Shield of Orzammar and his legendary speech during the First Blight.

He grasped the sword uncertainly, his mind awhirl with conflicting thoughts and doubts. _What the hell is he up to? Does he have a death wish or something?_

Faren wasn't one to brag, but he was, after all, Bherat's best hitman, so he had some skill with a blade. But even he knew he was no match for a Crown Prince, no matter how well trained he was.

They both took up a defensive stance, their eyes locked on each other's, they faces impassive. Then, without any warning, Olaf charged at him, a war cry on his lips and his axe in hand, its blade describing a deadly arc.

Faren barely lifted his sword in time to block the attack before he felt Olaf's shield slam into his gut, winding him and sending him sprawling. Faren shook his head to clear the spots flashing across his vision, his ire rising to the fore.

Now Olaf would learn the reason behind the saying 'the worst kind of duster is a pissed off duster'. With a roar that shook the very Stone below their feet Faren ran head-first into Olaf, his blade swinging madly in front of him.

Olaf was completely off-guard by the sudden ferocity of the attack, his targe barely coming up in time to stop his head being severed from his shoulders.

They fought thus for what felt like hours, exchanging blows of ever-increasing power and ferocity, sparks flying off their weapons like miniature stars, each combatant pouring their souls into their fight, neither giving any ground.

Eventually, when their arms felt like lead, they both collapsed to the ground with undignified groans. Then, quite suddenly, Olaf started laughing.

At first, it was a rough chuckle barely louder than a whisper, but then it grew into a full-out booming laugh that echoed throughout the lofty halls.

Faren soon joined him, his own voice swelling with mirth at their current situation, the irony of their respective positions making the entire predicament even more amusing.

Gorim merely looked on, staring at his lord in utter confusion. _What's gotten into him?_ He thought, his mind desperately trying to wrap itself around whatever the two dwarves had found so amusing.

* * *

Olaf and Faren laughed until their chests burned from exertion and all the air was forced out of their lungs. They forced themselves into sitting positions, their muscles screaming in protest, and managed to haul themselves to their feet.

"Well" Faren said, his eyes sparkling with mischief "now I can actually say I duelled with the prince. Of course no one will believe me, but there you go."

Olaf chuckled and slapped the assassin on the back, saying "Well, if they don't believe you, show them a bit of what you showed me. That ought to loosen their prejudices."

Faren grinned and headed back to Dust Town, but stopped just short of the threshold.

He turned to look Olaf in the eye and said "If ever you need something, just call and I'll be there." And with that statement he strode off, back into the shadows of the slums, his head once again held high, his spine straight as stone.

Olaf sighed as he watched him go, then turned to Gorim and said "Come Gorim, let us return to my father. Poor man's no doubt wondering where the hell we are right now."

Gorim nodded and, swinging his shield onto his back, flanked Olaf as they began their ascent back to the Diamond Quarter and the Royal Palace, and the King.

* * *

They strolled into the Throne Room of the Palace, their heads held high, and Olaf walking with his typical air of competence, a cape of royal crimson fastened to the back on his armour.

His eyes quickly flicked across the room, covering every inch of space possible. The first thing he noticed was the two humans and the elf standing beside his father.

One of the humans had a huge greatsword slung across her back, and her auburn hair arrayed in two swirl-like buns just above the base of the back of her neck, her hazel eyes watching everything.

The elf was dressed in a long, flowing robe, and held a staff, almost identical to the ones used by the deshyrs of the Assembly, in his pale hands. The elf's jet-black hair flowed over his shoulder and down to his chest, and his piercing green eyes were wide with wonder. Olaf could practically sense the magic flowing from him, so presumed he was a mage, which would make sense due to his attire.

The other human, the elder if his appearance was anything to go on, had short black hair, with dark skin and a set of ancient, yet meticulously maintained armour, with an intricately wrought sword and dagger sheathed on his back.

His face, however, was what really got Olaf's attention.

It seemed to hold the wisdom of decades of experience and the horrors of wars long past, yet also seemed incredibly serene and peaceful.

That face reminded him of his mother (Stone bless her soul) who was the strongest of Orzammar's Queens, aside from the bride of Aeducan himself.

Olaf felt tears beginning to form as memories long buried began to surface. Flashes of his mother's kind face, her twinkling emerald eyes, her heart-warming smile, all framed by a mane of swirling red locks, of her gentle voice and soft touch as she comforted him as a child.

He shook his head violently to clear the images from his mind, the last thing he needed right now was a mental break-down. He marched confidently towards the Throne, his spine stiff as Stone, his face impassive, but not before Lord Dace called him over to his side.

"My apologies your Highness" he said, his face portraying nothing of his intentions, yet Olaf could detect the subtle hints of the Deshyr's mind working on a plan, a skill he had honed with great practice "but I must ask for your aid."

Olaf nodded and indicated for the man to continue, his eyes scrutinizing his every move.

"There is a vote coming before the Assembly next week, concerning the status of our surface brothers" he said, then went on to explain his idea for standing before the Lords and saying that they should have their rights restored.

"I will consider it." He said and then walked off towards his father.

Endrin saw his son approach and dismissed the two deshyrs beside him before turn his venerable gaze to the prince.

"Adrast valla my son" he said, his voice strong, harsh yet gentle at the same time "how fine you look in your great-grandfather's armour."

He spread his arms in a welcoming gesture, and it was all Olaf could do to restrain himself from giving his father a hug right there, despite being the presence of multiple nobles and outsiders.

So instead he bowed low, his beard scraping the floor of the throne room, his eyes glued on the floor. There was the sound of someone clearing their throat, and Olaf looked up straight into the emerald eyes of the elven mage, his face stuck in a wide grin.

"Apologies Duncan" Endrin said, his voice formal, addressing the older human "but our traditions dictate that the Commander must be presented before the court before he can claim his title."

Duncan, if that was the man's name, nodded and took a respectful step backwards. Olaf then rose to his feet again and nodded to his father before turning to face the court, his cape billowing around his figure like a cloud of blood, his face set into a granite mask.

Endrin rose from his throne and boomed "Lords and Ladies, may I have your attention please."

The entire hall fell silent, even the outsiders quieted down to stare intently at the proceedings.

"I present to you my second eldest child, who is to take up the mantle of Commander of our armies." His gaze swung across the assembled nobles.

"Are there any questions? Does anyone seek to know the prospect better?" The silence in the room was deafening as everyone turned their gaze to Olaf's armoured form, until Lord Dace said "I have a question. I seek to know the prospect better."

All eyes turned to the Deshyr as he said "The question involves the so-called 'Surface Caste' and their rights as _Dwarva. _What is his Highness' opinion on this matter?" Immediately everyone's gaxe turned back to Olaf as he drew in a great breath.

"We are as they are and they shoukd have their rights restored" he said without prompt, not because he had been told to, but because he thought the caste system to stupid and outdated.

There were cries of shock and alarm that past through the halls at his response, and Lord Dace merely bowed and said "Thank you Your Highness." and nodded to the King to continue.

Endrin examined those assembled for a moment, then declared "Then the ritual is complete." His voice rose to a great boom, his tone once again becoming that of royalty. "I present to you, Orzammar's newest Commander!"

* * *

The entire hall erupted into cheers and wild shouts as everyone rose to congratulate Olaf on his promotion, some of the bolder and friendlier nobles slapping him on the back.

Olaf then spent the next hour or so conversing with everyone in the room, exchanging jokes and pleasantries with everyone, but always with a tankard in his hand. His love of ale was legendary across Orzammar, almost as great as his love of smithing and music, and there was a rumour that he had once tried to take up brewing when he was younger.

Eventually he was confronted by Duncan and his companions. "Adrast valla my lord Aeducan" Duncan said formally, bowing slightly to the prince, a gesture his two companions mimicked. Olaf bowed in return, whilst saying "Adrast valla Grey Warden, I am honoured"

Duncan's companions seemed surprised by the exchange, their eyes widening slightly. The woman seemed especially impressed, as her stoic demeanour slipped slightly as her full lips curled into a small smile.

The elf still had that same care-free grin on his angular face, but his eyes were studying Olaf in extreme detail, every inch of him with alarming scrutiny. Duncan noticed the direction of Olaf's gaze and smiled.

"Ah yes, my new recruits, and what a fine bunch they are." He winked at Olaf and said "This isn't all of them, these are just the latest." He pointed to the woman first. "This is Elissa Cousland, from the Teryn of Highever."

Elissa nodded in greeting and offered Olaf her hand, which he took and kissed, earning a chuckle from Gorim in the process. Elissa raised an auburn eyebrow in question as she retracted her hand, yet didn't comment.

The mage, however, looked like he was about to bust a gut from laughing, despite his best efforts to hide it. Even Duncan was smirking with suppressed mirth at the prince's action.

Then Duncan shifted his gaze to the mage. "And this is Alim Surana, a mage from the Circle of Magi. I recruited him to save him from some…complications." Olaf quirked an eyebrow at the word 'complications'. What kind of complications?

Alim extended his arms in the dwarven greeting and said "Adrast valla Olaf Aeducan, and may the Stone ever keep you strong." Everyone in earshot was taken aback by this outsider's knowledge of their customs. Olaf found himself warming to this elf a lot faster than he expected.

"Adrast valla Alim Surana" he replied, intoning the ancient greeting "and may you always find your way in the dark." Alim nodded, before glancing at Duncan, who nodded, and then nodded to Endrin, who beckoned Olaf and Gorim over to his side.

Endrin clapped his hands once, and silence once again ruled the room. "Our new Commander will lead an expedition into the Deep Roads to reclaim the lost Aeducan thaig, accompanied by our friend Duncan, the commander of Fereldan's Grey Wardens, to strike a mighty blow against the Darkspawn."

Once again the hall erupted into raucous cheering, and Olaf could suppress his grin no longer. His eyes lit up and his face once again held the humorous grin that was characteristically _him_.

Eventually, Endrin called Olaf over to his side once again, a thoughtful frown on his face. "Tell me lad" he said "do you notice anyone missing from the hall?" Olaf scanned the room quickly, and his heart fell to his boots when he saw both his brothers were missing.

Endrin nodded when he saw the wounded look in his son's eyes. "Find them and send Trian to me, he'll be in his rooms or watching the Provings." he said simply, waving his hand dismissively.

Olaf nodded and, motioning to Gorim, swept from the room, his cape billowing out behind him like a pair of crimson wings.

* * *

**Whew, that was a hard chapter to write. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it and can't wait to see what you think. And before anyone murders me in the review section, I gave Olaf all those talents to give his character some depth, plus it'll make things more interesting later on. Trust me, you'll know what I'm talking about. Anyways, see ya laters! **


	6. Chapter 6- The Noose Tightens

**Sorry for the VERY late update, just finished my exams and had a terrible case of writers block, so only just finished this off. Anyway, I've noticed a drop in reviews and views in general. Is this story that bad? Or are you so bored you can't take a good build-up? Regardless, here's Chapter 6, and Chapter 5 has been rewritten just a bit, so go back and look and see what you think. Reviews Please!**

* * *

The duo once again made their way back through the palace, heading towards Trian's chambers, their heavy steps echoing through the corridors.

Olaf's eyes scanned every inch of the hallways, alert for any sign of his brother's presence.

As they approached Olaf's chambers, they heard raised voices coming from Trian's room.

He poked his head round the door to see Trian and Bhelen engaged in a heated argument.

"Enough!" Trian boomed, his voice riven with frustration "I have made my decision Bhelen, and it's final!"

Olaf let out a sigh; it seemed some things never changed, such as Trian and Bhelen's fights.

It was then that he walked in, his boots clacking loudly against the stone of the floor.

Trian's head snapped towards the noise, and visibly relaxed when he noticed Olaf. "Come to gloat, have we little brother?" he sneered, his face twisting into a horrible mask of contempt.

Olaf noticed Gorim stiffen and reach for his sword, but Olaf shook his head and he relaxed.

"Really Trian?" he sighed "Are you so stubborn and high-strung that you can't even congratulate your own brother?"

Bhelen couldn't help but chuckle slightly at the look of mild hurt and anger that past across Trian's face. _Ah, so he does have a heart after all,_ he thought, mentally storing the information away for later use.

Gorim tapped Olaf on the shoulder with a pointed look on his face, and tilted his head to one side, his eyes flashing.

Olaf rolled his eyes and reluctantly nodded, and said "Oh, before I forget, father wanted to see you in the throne room."

Trian's eyes widened slightly, before his sneer came back. "Of course, he probably needs to discuss tactics for the assault tomorrow."

He turned his gaze to Bhelen at his side "Stay here and stoke the commander's conceit if you like, but then get to bed!" he barked before stalking off down the hall.

Bhelen released an explosive sigh and looked at his brother, his eyes filled with barely contained frustration until he heard the door slam shut.

* * *

"At last!" he cried, falling dramatically backwards onto the nearby bed, his beard nearly covering his face "I've put up with that all day. He can really grate on the nerves."

Olaf nodded in agreement; if there was one thing Trian excelled at, it was driving others to the edge of sanity.

"He probably thinks it's his right" He replied, sighing "but at least his acting's gotten better."

He smirked, remembering a time when Trian couldn't convince anyone of anything, and constantly made a fool of himself whilst trying to persuade Deshyrs that his way was the right way.

Bhelen sat up; his beard slightly rumpled, his eyes holding a strange eerie quality, almost as if he was constructing some sort of master plan in his head. "Is it also his right to try and improve his status at the cost of everyone around him?" he demanded, his voice laced with a surprising amount of venom.

Olaf's head immediately snapped up, the logical part of his mind going into overdrive as his eyes narrowed.

Gorim noticed the change immediately, having been around him for well over two decades and picked up on all of his mannerisms. They both looked at each over as the same thought flashed through their heads: _Something's not right here_.

"I'm not sure I follow you, brother" Olaf said slowly, carefully trying to conceal his suspicions.

Bhelen sighed before saying "Trian has begun to move against you, even though I always thought his much proclaimed honour would at least prevent him from acting on his jealousy."

He leaned forward; as if afraid someone would hear what he said next, and whispered so only Olaf and Gorim could hear "Big brother, I fear Trian will try to kill you."

Gorim's eyes widened in horror and all of the blood drained from his face as an audible gasp escaped his lips. Olaf, on the other hand, was silent as the facts organized themselves in his head, and then it all clicked into place, and the truth horrified him.

"No" he breathed, his face getting paler by the second, his hands slowly clenching at his sides "Oh Paragons no…" he saw it then, the web that was woven around them, and at its heart, at the centre of what was dwarven politics, he saw Bhelen's message for what it really was. Steeling himself for what he had to do, he focussed his rage into one sentence. "That's it, all bets are off. Tomorrow, Trian dies!" And with that, he stormed out of the room, Gorim following in his wake.

Both of them almost missed the victorious smirk that settled on Bhelen's face as they left. _And now,_ he thought, _the pieces fall into place._

* * *

Olaf stalked through the halls, heading towards the throne room, his face a granite mask.

Gorim followed, extremely worried by his lord's sudden change in behaviour. It looked like his normally infinite patience had snapped, and his calm facade had finally slipped. It was like a fire, long buried, had flared deep within his soul and started burning down the fuse of his temper.

Olaf flung the doors of the throne room open with a single well-placed shove, and strolled in, startling the assembled nobles.

"I wish to speak to my family alone" he boomed, his eyes locked on Endrin's face. When the nobles failed to responds, he added "Now!" That got their attention, and most of them bolted for the door. As Harrowmont turned to leave, Olaf called "Not you, my lord. You're the closest thing to a neutral party here, and you're my father's advisor, so I must ask you to stay."

Once the doors to the hall boomed shut, Olaf allowed his mask to drop. His face changed from determined to one of utter despair, his eyes losing the spark they had held for so many years. To those around him he seemed to age ten years in the space of two seconds, such was his posture.

"What is the meaning of this, little brother?" Train blurted, his rage clearly written on his face. Olaf turned to look at him, and Trian audibly gasp when he saw the grief in his brother's eyes.

"Father" Olaf said, his voice laced with sadness "you have been King for long enough to know the true meaning of 'dwarven honour' and 'Orzammar politics'. As long as our policies are decided by assassins and scoundrels, this city will always be a pit of vipers whose venom infects the very heart of our great people."

He turned his gaze to Trian as he recited "'When thieves and murderers know only deception, a dose of honesty will throw all of them off their tracks, and a stubborn, immovable object will cause them all to collide with and destroy each other.'" His eyes grew infinitely sad and mournful as his gaze drifted to the floor.

"Mother told me that just before she died, amongst other things. Rather appropriate that I should think of that right before I go to my death."

Endrin visibly flinched and even Harrowmont looked shocked, all the colour draining from his face just before Olaf said the one thing he had been dreading to say."The way things are going right now, you, father, will likely lose one or two sons before tomorrow's battle is done, either to death or exile."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop to that of the mountain glaciers, despite the lava flowing around them, and time seemed to freeze in the apparent chill. Then, to everyone's surprise, Trian started laughing.

Everyone turned to see the firstborn Prince practically on his knees with laughter, tears streaming down his face and soaking his beard.

"Very funny little brother" he said, his voice still quivering from his laughter "You come in here, weave your web around us, and you expect us to believe everything you say." He laughed again, but this time is was dark and bitter.

Endrin stared at his son in open shock and disbelief, whilst Olaf merely looked at him with mournful eyes, his face seemingly transformed to stone.

"Oh?" he asked, his voice devoid of all inflection, "And what little nug did you hear that from?" Trian suddenly stopped laughing at his brother's tone, his eyes locking onto his face. "Was it the same one that told you I've been courting the Assembly for years, and the one that said I planned to kill you and claim the throne for myself?"

A gasp escaped Harrowmont whilst Endrin visibly paled, his face turning as white as new marble, and poor Trian's eyes widened to the size of saucers, terror reflecting in their ocean-blue depths.

"Tell me, did that little sly fox poison you against me before or after I went to tell you of father's summons?" Olaf demanded, his eyes drilling into Trian's skull like a pickaxe, his gaze burning like a thousand suns through the air.

"Trian?" Harrowmont asked, turning his gaze to the firstborn "Is this true?" Trian could only stutter a vague response, his mind still trying to wrap itself around the conundrum Olaf had presented him.

Olaf then surprised them all by saying "I did tell him I would kill you myself, so that should stop him from sending any of his mercenaries after you." Everyone turned to stare at the second-born, their eyes wide in shock.

Olaf then grinned under his beard and called towards the door "Of course, I had some _help_" and at his words, Faren dropped soundlessly to the floor from his alcove above the great doors, clad in his hooded cloak and signature leathers, his twin axes sheathed on his back.

* * *

"I just had a wonderful conversation with our friend Duncan" he said nonchalantly as he walked into the hall, his face hidden by the shadow cast by his hood "He seemed to have the idea that somehow _I_ was involved in the Provings incident last week! Preposterous!"

He then turned to Olaf whilst reaching under his cloak. "Oh, and I found what you asked me to, I hope it was worth the wait" and withdrew a small parcel with the seal of House Dace emblazoned on the front.

Olaf took the offered parcel and opened it, revealing a Note of Credit with the message:

_'For earlier, thanks by the way. _

_Oh, and watch your back tomorrow, there's trouble brewing. R. Dace. _

_P.S Jerrik wants in on your expedition, so does Brogan, so expect them in your company tomorrow.'_

Olaf shook his head with a grin and pocketed the note and the message, then reached to the depths of the parcel, and drew out an intricate amulet, also the seal of House Dace on its face.

But surrounded by the seal, was another seal. The seal of Aeducan was emblazoned in the very centre of the amulet, surrounded by that of Dace, and that message was not on anyone in the room.

It confirmed that House Dace would stand with Aeducan in all its actions, be it for good or ill. The amulet had been hand-crafted by the artisans of House Dace specifically for Olaf on his return from one of his more successful Deep Roads expeditions, with both Jerrik and Brogan Dace in tow, as a gift for his efforts.

He stared at the pendant and sighed as the memories that it triggered were stemmed deeper into his mind, he didn't need to visit that _particular_ Deep Roads trip at the moment. He pulled it over his head so it hung around his neck, then turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

It was only then that Trian had managed to extract himself from his catatonic state and a look of unbridled fury etched itself on his noble face.

"You're telling me" he ground out "that Bhelen, who has in NO way shown any aptitude for subterfuge, has managed to wrap the Assembly around his finger, set us at each other's throats, AND remain completely anonymous?!" By this point his voice had gone from a low growl to an all-out roar, venting his rage to any ear who would hear him.

Olaf only nodded, understanding his brother's anger.

"Oh, you have no idea how clever that little snake can be" he said, his voice devoid of all emotion. "I played a game of chess against him once. He let me win too, almost thought I hadn't caught on. Unfortunately for him, I'm used to picking up fine details like that."

His gaze shifted over the assembled, unflinching and immovable.

"He has been planning for months, even years" he began, his words echoing across the hall effortlessly "who knows who has taken into his confidence, or how far the rot has spread, in both our own House _and_ the Assembly. We can trust no one else but those that stand in this very room, at this very moment. This is our only safeguard."

Just as he finished the sentence, the sound of falling stone was heard, and Faren spun around and threw a dirk into one of the side passages, eliciting a loud cry of pain from inside.

With a curse, he shot forward into the dark, his cloak billowing around him like black wings as he ran.

Everyone stared after the duster, their eyes glued to the tunnel all cringed as a loud scream rent the air from deeper down the passage, followed by the wet squelch of a blade being removed from flesh. The sound of footsteps was followed by Faren returning from the passage, wiping the blade of his axe on his cloak.

"A spy" he said shortly "probably on Bhelen's payroll, if this is any judge." He produced a signet ring with the seal of Aeducan stamped in the centre.

Trian quickly snatched it up and held it to the light, examining it in excruciating detail. Faren glanced at Olaf and raised an eyebrow, to which Olaf just shrugged and mouthed '_He does that'_.

They turned back when Harrowmont said "What proof do you have, child? How can you be sure that Bhelen's plans will go the way he wishes? Now that we know his schemes, it should just be a case of questioning him and bringing him to justice. Why renounce your own life, your station, if there _is_ another way?"

The question hung heavy in the air, Endrin in particular seemed the most affected, his brow furrowed with worry and his eyes filled in concern.

Olaf sighed, his expression softening, and said "What proof does one need when one has a spotless record and enough charisma to fill a Provings stadium? And if this nug" he gestured to Trian at this point "can't get the message through his thick skull, then what's the point in trying?"

Everyone started as Trian snorted, the ring laying forgotten in his hand. "Tis an amusing concept little brother" he said, his hands behind his back as he paced, quite calmly "My only question is: where do _you_ fit in?"

Once again, all eyes fell to Olaf, and silence reigned once more. Then, quite suddenly, Olaf started laughing. It wasn't long and loud, like his usual laughter, instead it was more of a barking scoff, short and sharp.

"I? A strange question, coming from you" he said, his voice light-hearted yet scornful. Then his expression softened, his eyes unfocussed, and his voice took on a strange quality, almost mystical. "I am as I should be. I am prince of Orzammar and Commander of her armies. I am the standard bearer, responsible for our continued existence. I am Aeducan, the Shield of Orzammar, and even if I am cast out and reviled by my own, I shall protect my people even from their own folly."

Everyone stared openly at the second son, their eyes wide at his speech, their jaws slack in amazement. Olaf continued, apparently oblivious to their reactions. "Why should I wish to rule when there are those among us who could achieve so much more than I? Why should I wish to rule when I am content as I am?" his gaze fell upon Trian, his eyes calm, resolute, understanding. "Why rule when my brother can accomplish more in a year than I could in a lifetime?" he finished, his voice low and subdued, yet still clearly audible across the room. Shock filled the room at Olaf's confession, and Trian looked like he would faint any second.

Then, in true Brosca style, Faren ruined the mood by chuckling.

"Oh man, that was a good one" he said, his now-trimmed beard shaking slightly as he laughed, "appears all the rumours about you were true after all."

Harrowmont glared at the duster for his apathy, but it was cut off when a loud clatter echoed from behind them, and they turned to see Endrin face-first on the floor, his skin as white as freshly-hewn marble.

With cries of alarm, four guards burst through the doors to see their King, with one arm slung over each of his sons' shoulders, being carried to the throne.

"Don't worry, the old fool's just fainted." he told them, laying the King on the throne and adjusting his robes. The entire room was silent except for the synchronized sound of breathing.

Finally, Gorim spoke up. "It's best if we table the matter for now and retire. We all have a very long day ahead of us tomorrow."

If only he'd known how prophetic those words were.

* * *

**Wow, that was hard to write, and we're still not out of Orzammar! Anyway, next chapter things get a little tense, and Bhelen's true colours bloom. Until then, post you're reviews in the review section and enjoy your lives. Ciao!**


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